CHAPTER 4

 

Brandon woke up that morning with a splitting headache blurring his vision for a second. What the fuck even happened last night? Short scenes flashed before his eyes, as he rubbed them in his attempt to soothe the pain. He saw himself and a couple of girls grinding on the dance floor. He then saw one of them pulling him upstairs and undressing him. The rest was a blur, but he got a pleasant feeling from it so it must’ve been good.

He remembered a couple of guys from the neighborhood he used to hang with inviting him to a party. Ecstatic that they even wanted him around, he quickly accepted. Although he only could remember bits and pieces of his time there, he was glad that he went.

Brandon drew in a deep breath trying to let the after effects of his wild night ease from his body. Feeling the burning irritation of a scratchy, dry throat, he reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and gulped the liquid down within a matter of seconds. After his pain soothed a bit, he got dressed and headed towards the kitchen.

He could hear voices from below and knew Malik was there. His brother’s peals of laughter could be heard clearly even through closed doors. He felt disgusted. Why did he always have to be so happy? He was fuckin’ scum. A drug dealer. He should be lying in a corner and hating himself for what he did to people, not spending his time in the kitchen, laughing with their mother as if he was some kind of saint.

“Morning, sunshine,” his mother joked when he strolled into the kitchen. “Wild party last night, huh?”

He stared at her in confusion.

“He don’t know shit, Ma,” Malik laughed. “I went there as soon as they got snitched on.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Brandon frowning.

He was genuinely confused. He forgot about the hatred towards his brother only for a second as he tried to understand. Maybe he’d find out what actually happened that made his head hurt like shit.

“Some of your homies got their party favors from me,” Malik explained, sipping on his coffee. “Someone snitched and the cops busted the party, but I got you out of there before you got caught. The funny thing is, you didn’t take no drugs,” he chuckled. “You were just drunk as fuck.”

Malik’s last words were filled with an odd kind of pride. Sure, he didn’t agree with his little brother drinking his brains out, but despite being surrounded by drugs at the party, he hadn’t touched any. None.

Brandon didn’t hear pride, though. All he could hear was his older brother ‘the fucking drug dealer’ making fun of him. He had the nerve to be applauding him for not succumbing to that disgusting plague that he helped spread. When Malik reached up and patted the top of his head, he moved back, an annoyed look on his face. He headed to the fridge and pulled out some cold pancakes. He started to munch on them as he made his way to the table and sat down.

“Hey, I ain’t judging,” Malik told him, not aware of the true reason of Brandon’s indignation. “Last day of school. Last party night with your boys. It’s all good. I get it.”

“It’s not all good from my point of view,” Gloria suddenly spoke, prompting startled jumps from her sons. They had forgotten they weren’t alone. “You still drank so much you forgot your own name. And if it wasn’t for your brother who got you out of there, we’d have to get your ass out of jail. You should thank him instead of giving him attitude.”

Brandon felt the rage building inside him stronger and hotter than before. He felt the embarrassment mixed with anger burning him down to the bone. Malik. It was always Malik. No matter what he or someone else did, his mother would always have to sneak a little ‘Malik-praising’ into the conversation.

Why couldn’t she do that for him? Couldn’t she see that everything his older brother was doing was completely wrong? Why did she keep praising him as if he was some fucking Hollywood star? All he did was drink and have a little fun, like any guy his age would’ve. And yet, he was still the one getting scolded.

That’s it, he thought. He needed to get out. He needed to clear his mind and somehow calm himself down.

“I’m going out,” he announced abruptly as he left the kitchen. Moments later, Malik and Gloria heard the front door slam as he left.

Fuck. He slammed his fist against the hard concrete wall he passed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He walked down the street without a destination in mind. He just needed to get away from the house.

A blast of heated thoughts moved through his head as he continued to move aimlessly down the street. Brandon looked up twenty minutes later not knowing how he got to Hopkins Street. He looked around him at the wilted neighborhood and only saw depression and hopelessness.

Kids were running around playing in a lot next to an abandoned building. On the corner a few guys were standing around waiting for their next sale. A bunch of men was lined up against the wall of the liquor store sipping on their bottles and swapping the same old stories.

This was the hood. The ghetto. And it all belonged to Malik. He ran it all. Damn, why didn’t I think to sell drugs too. I’m way smarter than Malik. If I would’ve thought of it first, this would all belong to me. I would’ve been the king of the streets now and I would be the one receiving all their mothers love and attention.

Brandon felt the sting of tears and hastily blinked them away. This could still be mine. It would just take some planning. Suddenly, a strange, sick little smile played across his face. It was time to steal the so called king’s crown.

~~~~

“So what are ya gonna do now?” Jaymes asked, dragging one last pull from his cigarette before throwing it in the small puddle in front of him much to Brandon’s joy. He had never smelled anything worse than cigarette smoke.

“I’m gonna…” he paused. He didn’t like what he was going to say at all. “I’m gonna be like him.” The last three words hurt him more than any knife or gun would have. Be like him. It still echoed in his head, driving him mad with anger.

“You’re crazy,” the other boy said, seemingly careless. “You’ve heard the stories and ya know better than anyone what he can do. Haven’t ya heard what he did to old man Carter?”

Brandon’s ears perked up. That was new.

“What?”

“He refused to pay for his tab,” Jaymes smirked. “For a long time too. Apparently, he was going to leave the city yesterday, but your bro got to him first.”

“What did he do to him?” Brandon asked, hating himself for the sincere curiosity he displayed.

“Let’s just say old man Carter has nothing to run with now.” With yet another smirk, Jaymes pointed to his legs, his lips mimicking the sound of a gunshot. Pop! Pop!

Brandon stifled a shudder. He knew what his brother could do and he even heard Malik himself talking about it a few times with their mother, but he couldn’t quite accept it yet. In fact, he wasn’t sure he was ever going to.

“Still wanna join the gang?” asked Jaymes.

“Yeah. I’m not scared. I want to see for myself.”

“Then I guess we gotta find us some connections.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Brandon assured his friend. “With my brother’s rep, I’m pretty sure we're not going to have any problems with that.”

~~~~

Two days later...

Luckily for Brandon, the evening’s gloom did a great job at hiding his nervousness. He was leading his friends into a gang he heard his brother talking about the other night. Apparently, that was the place one of the hustlas did his business.

Jaymes was confident as usual, unlike the other guy, Dominik, who chose to only stare at the concrete while he walked. It kind of annoyed Brandon, to be honest. He felt like Dominiks’ fear would drag him down and ultimately, it would end up getting them all in trouble. He was starting to regret bringing him. Jaymes alone would’ve been perfect.

They found Vice in a small bar that was used by the dealers as a meeting spot. He knew he was probably making a very big mistake walking in there as if he owned the place, but that was the only way he could earn some respect from his first try. And if that didn’t work, he could always say that he was there on his brother’s behalf, as much as he despised the idea.

The man in question stood at a table in a darker corner of the bar, a dirty glass filled with a dark brown liquid in front of him. He gulped it down when he saw the young boys. He glared at them in a mix of curiosity and irritation as they sat down in front of him.

“I ain’t got nothing for your bro,” Vice spat. “I paid him last week, so y’all can get the fuck outta my face.”

Brandon had no idea what he was talking about. But luckily, he knew how to play his part.

“I know that,” he spoke calmly, fixing Vice with an icy look. “We came for work.”

“What?”

“Ya heard me right,” Brandon said, trying to adopt Jaymes way of talking. His ivy league school education was pushed to the back burner as he tried to sound hood. “We wanna work for you, and it ain't got nothing to do with my brother either.”

Vice’s face cracked into a grin, his yellow teeth making Brandon want to gag. He stared at the three young boys sitting before him and knew he could use them as runners. The police wouldn’t look at them twice because of their innocent faces.

“A’ight,” he finally said after he’d carefully thought over his plan. “I got a special delivery tonight for one of the big boys down on Wilbur Avenue. Y’all sure about this?”

“Mad sure,” Brandon replied, his words emphasized by his boys nodding their heads. “We’ll do it.”

“A’ight then. But if you fuck this up, I’ll put two in each of you. Ya feel me?” The boys nodded and Vice continued, pulling a small white package from an inner pocket of his coat and sliding it to Brandon. “Ya know where the mayor lives?”

Brandon drew his hand back from the package scowling. “You want me to take that to the mayor? He’s gonna get us fucking locked up!”

Vice laughed at the fear on his face. “Nah…Ol’ Jameson’s one of us,” he said leaning back. “He’s havin’ a pretty big party tonight and he wants his shit right away. My main running ain’t get back yet, so you can make this one.” He shoved the package closer to him. “Now go and don’t come back until you have my money.”

With nothing else left to be said, Brandon took the package and shoved it in the book bag he was carrying. When he stood up, the other boys followed and they quickly left the bar. No one paid them any attention as they walked out carrying five thousand dollars worth of Molly’s. Either they didn’t notice or they didn’t care.

“Ya think it would be better if only one of us delivered this shit?” Dominik asked, casting nervous glances at the book bag. Brandon had been expecting this question from him and surprisingly, he was glad he asked.

“You fuckin’ pussy,” Jaymes said and laughed. “You begged me to come and now you punking out.”

“I was just sayin’, man,” he shrugged. “It’s gonna look suspicious as fuck if all three of us walk to the house like, Hey man, want some of this?”

Jaymes opened his mouth for another joke, but was quickly interrupted by Brandon.

“Nah, he’s right. We’re gonna look like dumbasses and then, if we don’t get locked up by the mayor, we gon’ get our asses shanked by Vice and his crew.”

“Then who’s gonna deliver?”

“Me,” came Brandon’s short response. “I have my brother’s respect behind me as a shield, so if something goes wrong, nothing will happen to me. I can’t say the same about y’all, though.”

Brandon was pleased to see his friends’ concerned faces. They seemed to agree with him and ultimately, gave in. He had wanted to convince them to give up and was happy when they did. That night belonged to him, and him alone. There was no place for mistakes.

Thoughts of the money he was about to make had him feeling anxious. He could already see himself covering his mother in gifts and receiving all her love and attention. He saw himself being hugged and praised by her, while Malik sat in a corner looking foolish. He could see him glaring at them with jealousy, like Brandon had done so many times before.

“A’ight then,” Jaymes finally spoke up. “You on your own, Bruh. Just let me know if you need me though.”

“I got this,” said Brandon, trying to hide his enthusiasm after seeing his plan work.

“But we’re gonna get a share of that cash, feel me?” said Jaymes not really asking. He gave Brandon a hard stare, waiting for his reply.

“Don’t worry man. I got’chu,” Brandon assured them. They could have it all as far as he was concerned. He was gonna make more than that if his plan worked.

Jaymes nodded and he and Dominik started walking in the opposite direction.

As soon as he was left alone, Brandon headed straight to the mayor’s house. It was definitely bigger than the average neighborhood house and it was surrounded by a tall concrete fence. There was no way he could sneak in so he decided to take the obvious way – the main gate. There was a small speaker installed on the wall with a red button that read ‘Push to speak’. He pushed the button and waited for someone to answer.

“Business or simple visit?” a woman’s voice echoed through the box as soon as he pressed the button.

“Business.”

The gates instantly opened, leaving him enough space to get inside the yard. He walked along the pavement and glanced at the tall trees that framed it. Ol’ Jameson surely had a taste for the fine life. When he finally reached the door, he rang the bell and was soon greeted by a middle-aged man, obviously drunk.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said, struggling to tie together the question through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got a package for Jameson,” Brandon replied, patting his pocket.

The expression on the man’s face shifted in a matter of seconds.

“Come in,” he said, moving aside so Brandon could get in.

The heavy smell of cigarettes and sweat struck him instantly. The living room was crowded with a colorful mass of people laughing and dancing as if they had no care in the world. He even saw a few men playing with the skirts of the girls who were grinding against them in their laps. They wore no underwear. Brandon eyes were glued to their asses.

“So, boy,” he heard the drunken man’s voice snapping his attention back to business. “What d’you have for me?”

“The package from Vice.”

“Follow me.”

He seemed less drunk as he walked upstairs closely followed by Brandon. When they finally stopped, he turned to him and demanded to see the pack. Brandon handed it to him and could barely hold back a chuckle when the man sniffed it as if he could actually test its authenticity like that.

He seemed pleased, though.

“Good, good,” he murmured. He reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and pulled out a thick stack of cash. “Five thousand,” he said, slapping the banknotes hard against Brandon’s hand. “Now get out. And tell Vice I’ll need a fresh batch next month around this time.”

As he walked out, Brandon could barely contain his excitement. Five thousand dollars. He had just easily earned five thousand dollars. Sure, he had to give the biggest part to Vice and then share what was left between himself and his friends, but it had still been easy money.

When Brandon finally returned to the bar, he handed Vice the money. He sat there quietly as he watched him count it. Nodding his head, he peeled off a few bills and tossed them on the table in front of him. Vice decided that he should only have seven hundred dollars for the run. Brandon found that a bit unfair, but didn't argue back. He figured that he would give his two friends only one hundred each since they didn’t do shit and keep the rest for himself.

He snatched the money up and stuffed it into his pocket. As he left the bar, he had a huge grin on his face. Like I said. Easy money.

~~~~

It seemed that Brandon’s fame was growing day by day. He delivered packages for the small time dealers and met the important people in the city. It came as no surprise to him to see how many of the high-ranking men and women depended on his services. At the end of every delivery he would get a hefty sum and he was happy with it, mostly because he could now buy his mother things as well. Gloria had been grateful at first, thinking the gifts were bought from his savings, but when they started arriving more often and getting more expensive, she started getting suspicious and reached out to Malik.

“I don’t know where he gets the money from,” she told Malik one day, pointing to the box full of jewelry Brandon had given her.

Malik didn’t know either, but he was going to find out what was going on.

“Don’t worry, Ma,” he told her. “I’ll find out and handle it.”

Gloria smiled already feeling relief. Malik’s pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug.

“I have to go, Ma. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright, baby. Be safe in those streets,” she said, holding on for a moment longer.

“Always,” said Malik. He squeezed her tightly and kissed her cheek one last time with a loud smacking sound before leaving the house.

His plan was to wait for Brandon to leave and follow him. He hid on the side of a small brick house down the street and waited patiently. He was well hidden due to his dark clothes which he used to his advantage. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.

After a few minutes, he saw Brandon come into view on the porch. He watched as he locked the front door, descended the few steps, and headed down the block in a hurry. Malik followed him closely from the opposite side of the street. Luckily for him, Brandon didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him. What a mistake, Malik thought, shaking his head.

As expected, Brandon took the road that led to the center of the city, the same place he started his own ‘career’ in. His blood was boiling. His little brother, whom he thought incapable of doing such things, was heading straight to Vice’s pub and went in as if he owned the place.

I’ll show him who really owns everything around here, he thought as he got his phone out. After a few calls, and about ten minutes, he was surrounded by some of his most trusted men. Trey, Meek and Rock, each bigger and tougher looking than the other. They were always strapped and ready for whatever. They had murder in their eyes and fire flowing through their veins. None of them had ever liked Vice and this opportunity was too good to pass.

“I’ll go in first,” Malik instructed them. “I just wanna make sure before we off them motherfuckers. Y’all come in at my signal.”

The men nodded and with a blank expression plastered on his face, he entered the pub.

“Sup, Vicey boy,” he laughed as he sat down at the table next to his brother who instantly tensed up in fear. “I see you’re here with my lil’ bro and by the looks of it, y’all ain’t playin’ Monopoly.”

His gaze swerved across the colorful packs spread on the table. There were at least fifteen types of drugs there, all sorted by a different color. He knew better than anyone how Vice worked, since he copped most of his shit from him.

“He came to me,” Vice shrugged, trying to seem unaffected about the tension that was evident all around them.

“Oh, he did, huh?”

Even with the smile on Malik’s face, Vice wasn’t stupid. The ice in Malik’s eyes told a different story.

Turning to his brother Malik continued to grin. “You did?”

The only reaction that came from Brandon was a small nod. Weirdly enough, Malik was happy to see the fear in his brother’s eyes. Maybe that would convince him why this wasn’t the right choice for him. To stay the fuck in school and leave the streets to him.

“I see how it is,” Malik hissed, the first sign of his anger being shown. With a hand wave the pub’s doors were slammed open by his men, who wasted no time in shooting everything and everyone that moved, except the bartender. She cowered in fear behind the counter waiting for her turn. It never came, though.

The three men stepped over the still-twitching bodies on the floor and when they finally reached Malik’s table, they stood still in silence.

“Now what do I do with my boy Vice here?” Malik smirked, his eyes glaring devilishly at the terrified man in front of him. “You know what? I’ll deal with you myself, but before I do,” he uttered, turning to face the woman behind the bar. “I want you to tell everyone that will listen that if they try and give my brother work, then I’ll have to come and put in work. You got that?”

The woman nodded and ran out of the bar, stumbling over the lifeless bodies as she headed for the door. Malik felt bad for her. By the looks of it, she wasn’t used to seeing this kind of shit. Which was quite odd, considering her work place.

That being said, he pulled out his knife and with a quick hand movement, he slit Vice’s throat. Blood sprayed his hands and Brandon’s face as he let out a disgusting gurgling sound before falling head first on the table.

“If I catch you again,” he said, turning to Brandon, who was staring wide-eyed at him. “I’m gonna beat the shit outta you in front of Ma. Understood?”

Brandon gave a weak nod. It was all he could do at that moment and he hated it. He hated how weak he was in front of his brother.

“Good. I’m not gonna tell her anything this time. But I’m dead serious about what I said.”

He grabbed a bunch of napkins from the tabled, wiped off his knife and then cleaned his hands. “Meek, call Stacey and tell him we have a clean up at Vice’s place. Tell him to send a replacement too.”

“You got it Malik,” said Meek, walking away to make the call.

Malik stood up and Brandon followed like a scared little boy.

“Trey, take him to the Den and let him get cleaned up. Then take him home.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Brandon. “Don’t give Trey any trouble. Do as he says and don’t upset Mom when you get in the house. You got that?”

Brandon nodded, bested by his brother once again. The sharp knife of anger wedging even deeper.